Cabin Fever
by brokenbutterfly87
Summary: One shot about Raymond Vester and his first partner at the FBC. Just something I was playing around with on the computer - I may return to flesh this out if there is any demand for it. Enjoy!


Raymond

Raymond leaned against the desk in the corner of the room, and tried to keep his breath from panting through his thin lips. Terragrigia was done for... and he didn't know how much longer he could hold out. The office was hot, sticky... the place seemed like it was on fire. Indeed, most of the downstairs suites had been gutted by flames, but worse than that were the monsters that had been loosed.

His fingers fluttered hesitantly above the ragged gash in his blue suit trousers. _Goddamnit, every time... _They had been bought, new, for this posting. Now one of the goddamn Farfarellos – grotesque, amphibian, man-like creatures had caught him off guard. He had only wanted to help. Now, he didn't know where the hell his unit was, nor how to get in touch with them.

He hadn't made many friends since joining the FBC. People were put off by his cold, arrogant manner, but that wasn't something he wanted to change. He was professional, and got the job done. So what if his people skills left a little to be desired – he was commited.

There was a crash of breaking glass in the corridor outside,and despite himself, he felt a clammy coil of fear twist low in his belly. One pale, freckled arm reached behind him to fish out his gun, and he waited with baited breath to see whether the creature- or whatever had made the noise - would come into the room.

Click. Click.

Claws on tiles, cold and efficient, pacing, waiting. Raymond drew the gun round till it rested on one long thigh, and tried to breathe slowly.

The sound of sudden gunfire was deafening. He grunted with alarm, and limped towards the double doors. Perhaps it was someone from his team. There was an inhuman howl that rent the air, and he faltered, one gloved hand pressed over the handle. _Come on, get it together, Vester..._

He kicked the door open and stepped into the corridor, coming round low with his gun raised. When he saw the figure at the end turn, illuminated against a swinging fluorescent tube, he called out, "Wait, don't shoot!"

Amelia fired.

The bullet seemed to tear the air above his right ear, and he ducked a fraction too late. His ear seared with agonising heat, and he slid down the wall. Behind him, there was a heavy thump, and he followed the sound of the noise dumbly. It seemed so quiet after the roar of gunfire.

The Farfarello – one of the new breeds of Hunter, originally developed by Umbrella – twitched on the floor. Above one cold, staring yellow eye, there was a neat hole.

Amelia was at his side, her hands finding his face, turning him to face her.

"Raymond! I'm so sorry... it was coming right at you..." She had a soft accent, and hair that fell in unruly waves and curls about her round face. Her fingers raked through his hair, and the feeling of her nails scoring along his scalp made his face flame with some emotion he fought hard to control. Finally, she leaned back.

"I think you'll live. Still... sorry for the close one." As she stood back up, he caught her hand. Amelia turned, confusion on her face.

"I've been hurt." He said, pain etched across his angular face. Her eyes followed his gaze, and widened when they saw the dark patch spreading around the gash on his leg. The little exertion from the back of the room to the corridor had caused the bleeding to start again, and he scowled at himself. "I was stupid. Careless."  
"Stay here... I'm going to clear the corridor to the main hall, and then I'll come back and help you, OK?" Her face was pale, but she smiled anyway. "Remember, I owe you." With another glance down the corridor, she turned and hurried back the way she had come, gun up. Raymond watched her go, and tried to straighten his leg. The wound screamed in protest.

Amelia

Amelia walked on quiet feet down the trash-strewn hallway, and tried to quieten the anxious voice whispering in her ear. Her hands were slick with sweat, and she kept readjusting her grip on the Sig Sauer handgun. Her face still burned with embarrassment after speaking to Raymond.

God, she had the biggest crush on him.

They had both been transferred to the FBC from the military after filling out a prospective employee screening test. Both had excelled in the fitness and professional examinations, and before long, they had both taken up posts as cadets.

Raymond was inscrutable, and alienated himself seemingly on purpose. Amelia was the exact opposite, a little shy and nervous, but desparate to be friendly, accepted. She felt in over her head, but knew that the work they were doing was so very important. Bioterrorism was a growing threat, one that couldn't be ignored.

So, she had thrown herself into training, working in her spare time to bolster her shaky self-confidence until she could almost put up a convincing front. After a while, she didn't need to fake it any more, and she had made some good friends in her unit.

For a long time, she hadn't spoken to Raymond, convinced that he would find her asinine or annoying. He didn't exactly emanate approachability. But that all changed when they had been thrown together for a team-building exercise on one of the many weekend training trips the FBC organised.

It had been a hike in the woods above Pennsylvania. Each pair had been given basic survival equipment and then been dropped off at various points in the wilderness, miles away from any other cadets, but equidistant from the rendezvous point. The aim of the game? Make it back to base before the others, and in one piece.

It had been a long four days hike – out in the rugged mountain slopes, Amelia and Raymond were forced to rely on one another. Raymond had surprised her with his knowledge of mountain plants, boiling the leaves of an indigenous herb to make a poultice which he gave to her to rub on her blistered feet.

Three months earlier...

"Do you think we'll get docked for breaking and entering?" Amelia asked as she stoked the little fire that crackled in the grate. She was kneeling on the old charcoal-blackened rug that was spread out across the hearth, with her back to Raymond.

Her hair seemed like gold in the dying embers of the day. Raymond cleared his throat, suddenly nervous. "They don't need to know. As long as we make it back first, does it matter how we did it?"

Amelia laughed, settling back to lean on her hands. The heat from the fire was welcome after the long day's hike along the exposed ridge-line. It was nearly September, and the weather was cooling rapidly high up in the mountain range. About four o'clock, Raymond had spotted the moss-covered roof of the little cabin, camoflaged amongst the trees they had been planning to camp under.

The door had been locked, but Amelia had jimmed the lock with the practiced ease of someone who had done the deed many times before. The place was dusty and disused, but it seemed wind and water-tight, and there was dry kindling piled under a tarp in the back.

Raymond had gone to fetch water from a nearby mountain stream, filling up both their canteens and a pail that he had found at the side of the cabin. Amelia had busied herself with starting up the fire.

She was glad they had found the cabin. The two nights that they had spent under the stars had been pleasant enough, the air balmy, but the weather seemed to be turning. Low thunderheads rolled along the tops of the range, and the wind grew cold. She started as Raymond sat beside her near the fire. In the light from the flames, his vibrant red hair seemed even more shocking.

Amelia turned to look at him, aware suddenly of how close they were to one another. Raymond was staring down at her hand – it lay in the space between them, her fingers pale against the stained rug. For a moment, he said nothing, then he placed his long, cool fingers over hers, and looked into the fire.

They sat there in silence, until Amelia curled her fingers into his, entwining their hands. It seemed so natural, and when he drew apart only to wind his arm around her waist, drawing her to him and kissing the top of her head softly, she didn't resist. Neither spoke. The silence was amiable, warm, and she dropped her head against his shoulder, her eyelashes fluttering in the heat as she struggled to stay awake.

When he moved again, she jumped, startled. She had been dozing, half-existing in the fuzzily-rendered state between dreaming and being awake, and his sudden absence at her side startled her.

"Raymond..." She turned to find him laying out his sleeping bag. The fire had begun to burn down, the flames had retreated but the embers still glowed softly. She hugged her knees to her chest, embarrassed, unsure.

Raymond looked up at her, and then smiled. It was odd how it softened his angular face – the genuine warmth of the expression so different to his perpetual scowl. "Do you want to share?"

His tone was throwaway, but his eyes had become serious. It was as though a gap had opened in his normal guarded facade, and he was waiting patiently to see whether or not to snap it back up.

"Sure." She turned back to the fire, moving her hiking boots and socks out of the way of any errant cinders, and then crawled over to Raymond. He had taken off his trousers, but still wore a pair of light grey boxers and black socks beneath his long FBC t-shirt. She hesitated, and then kicked her own walking trousers off. The skin on her legs immediately broke out in goose-pimples. She gasped. "Jeez, it's cold."

She wriggled into the sleeping bag beside the slim red-head, hoping he couldn't hear the clamour of her heart as it seemed to leap into her throat. Her legs were entwined in his – she could feel the hair on his shins, the bump of his knees, the heat from his body. It was intoxicating.

He folded his arms around her, pulling the zip with him until they were pressed completely together. She was a head shorter than he was, and turned her face instinctively into his chest, breathing deeply. She could smell the musk of his sweat, and the soft note of detergent from the fabric of his shirt. Emboldened by the fact that her face was half-hidden, she wound her arms around him, her fingers tracing lines on his back.

Raymond murmured softly, and kissed the top of her head again. He stayed with his face pressed into her hair for a moment and then shifted slightly. One slim hand found the shelf of her jaw, and pushed gently so that she wound up facing him. His fingers were so cold against the warmth of her throat, but when he kissed her, his mouth was hot and insistent.

Amelia hadn't kissed anyone in a long time, and the shock of that first kiss paralysed her. When he stopped, she shook her head. "Please, Raymond... don't stop." There was a hint of a smile in her voice, and her stomach flipped lazily as he pressed his lips back against her. He was a surprisingly gentle kisser, his touch feather-light as he grazed his fingertips through her hair. Amelia pulled him towards her, emboldened, the tip of her tongue lapping softly against the wetness of his mouth.


End file.
